


Of Wolf And Man

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Allison Argent, Depression, Derek and Laura stay in Beacon Hills, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Full Shift Werewolves, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Psychological Trauma, Scarred Peter Hale, Suicidal Thoughts, Wolf Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: After being in a coma for a year, Peter wakes up in a broken body and in a world without his family. Permanently scarred and too weak to get up by himself, he starts to slip into a depression. However, when a full moon comes, he feels strong enough to leave the hospital. In the forest, Peter somehow manages to shift into an actual wolf. Since the wolf is strong and has no scars, Peter sees no point in trying to change back.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834501
Comments: 24
Kudos: 208
Collections: Teen Wolf Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the record: Peter is in a coma for only one year, so everyone is five years younger. I picture Derek and Laura as teenagers. Stiles and Allison are little children. Peter, Chris and Noah are in their late twenties. They went to school together.

For a long time, there’s only the void.

The void is black and silent. Only sometimes, there are distant noises. High-pitched beeping and urgent voices, jumbled words that make no sense to him.  
  
The void is numb. He's floating in it like he's underwater. Everything is blurry and dulled through the dark smooth water surrounding him. Shielding him from what is waiting, lurking, above the surface.

When the void starts to fade, when its gentle embrace loosens, he protests. Tries to cling to the merciful numb blackness. But it’s no use. Something is pushing him up, back to the surface. However, it only happens slowly, gradually. He’s deep underwater and the light isn’t visible above him. He starts to feel alone and it is scary. He also starts to feel pain. It's an everlasting ache, pulsing through him in a steady rhythm. He starts to feel for a connection. He knows there should be a connection ... Something. Bonds. He briefly panicks, because they are gone. They are ... No, not all of them are gone. There are still two pack bonds left. Two pulsing silver lines. He clings to them like to an anchor and lets them pull him a bit closer to the surface.  
  


Eventually, he can sense the presence of people around him. He starts to feel touches, starts to understand words and starts to have jumbled thoughts. He's coming back to himself and he isn't sure he likes it. He's Peter Hale and he lost his family because some hunters decided they are not allowed to live. Because some hunters decided to burn the peaceful pack of werewolves to the ground. He is Peter Hale and he thought he died in the flames. But apparently, he didn't. He must be at a hospital and the beeping must be his heart.

It's overwhelming when Peter gets his senses back. Everything smells too sharp and sour. He's touched almost all the time, it seems. Some hands are gentle and calm. Others are impatient and on the edge of being too rough with his sore skin.

He can hear noises far away, hasty steps, bright laughter or humming. Sometimes, someone cries.

Sometimes, someone sits on the chair beside the bed with a heavy sigh.  
  


Sometimes, it’s Derek. Or Laura. Derek barely talks. He just sits there, breathing and shifting around. There are rare moments when he reaches out, his fingers brushing Peter’s hand. But they are almost always pulled back like Derek has burned himself. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ the boy sometimes murmurs. Peter vaguely wonders what he's sorry for. For surving? For being alright? He really hopes that's not how Derek feels. Because ... He's glad his nephew and Laura are okay. Is glad they weren't in the basement with him. They deserve to be happy. But they aren't. Of course, they aren't. Not after this. 

While Derek barely talks, Laura can’t seem to stop. She talks on and on. Her Alpha spark is fresh and fickle, like the flickering flame of a nearly burnt down candle. She's always whispering, her voice breaking sometimes. She touches his hand, takes it only to drop it soon again, clearing her throat nervously.

 _“How am I supposed to do this,”_ She asks, and the room gives no answer. _“How … I don’t know how to do this. I’m not Talia. I’m … It’s too much. This pack is too weak and I can feel it. I know I have to, to find others. I have to make our pack stronger. Have to protect it. But … How? I can’t. I don't know how. I … I want them back. I want our family back. Uncle Peter, please wake up. I need you."_ _  
  
_

Chris is different. Chris sits on the chair, leans forward and grasps Peter’s hand tightly. His presence is strong and clear. He doesn’t whisper. But he does sound choked off. Like he’s trying to get the words around a stone in his throat.

 _“God. I’m so sorry. If I’d known … I would have done anything to prevent it. Anything. I’m so sorry I can’t make it unhappen. I wish I could turn back the time. But ... I want you to know that I took care of them. I seeked them out. I found them. They won’t ever hurt anyone again._ _I also took care Derek and Laura have … someone. Someone who looks after them. They’re still so young and Laura has the Alpha Spark now, I … Jesus. They’re staying with Noah and his son right now. Noah Stilinski. You always liked him. I’m sure he was here too. He took photos of your injuries, they were ... evidence. He never thought it was an accident. Always tried to find the arsonist. He couldn't, of course. Shit. Peter. I … I really hope you’ll wake up. There are so many things I want to talk about. Things happened … I made some decisions. Just … Please come back.”_

  
Chris hesitates. He bends over Peter and cups the unburnt side of his face. His hand is calloused, the skin covered in the little scars Chris has collected over the years. It stays on Peter’s face for a long moment, warm and solid. Peter misses it, when it disappears.

Chris leaves, his steps slow and heavy.  
  
He doesn't come back after this visit.

* * *

When Peter wakes up, he is alone. He blinks up into too bright lights and swallows, his throat dry and his tongue heavy. First, he feels like he’s floating. His body is too light. But then he is able to move his toes and fingers. He can feel them prickle. It feels like pin pricks. He tries to open his mouth and startles when he feels the pull of tight skin. He raises one hand shakily, to touch his face and his fingers move weakly over raised taut skin. His face is a map of scar tissue. 

In one violent moment, everything returns. It’s like he’s back in the basement and he’s burning. He’s pinned under a collapsed joist and he can feel the fire licking at his crushed leg and hip, a sharp neverending pain, like he has never felt it before. But he’s distracted from the pain and the sickening smell of his own burning flesh, when he hears a weak voice calling his name. He raises his head and sees Leah, his youngest niece, reaching out for him, her eyes wide and reflecting the flames. He fights to get out from under the joist and the pain is excruciating, but the desperation is stronger. Maybe … Maybe he can get Leah out of the window somehow. She is small … He crawls towards her, ignoring the flames reaching for him from all sides. He pulls his broken leg after him, and he’s almost reached Leah, when she says his name again, barely audible, and her eyes slip shut. _She’s so small,_ he thinks again. So small. She’s going to die. They are all going to die. Leah never hurt anyone. She was excited to go to school next summer, she wanted to become a famous popstar one day, and now she’s going to die. The moment Leah starts to close her eyes and slumps, passing out from the smoke, is the moment he gives up. There can’t be a life after this … The fire roars and now it’s the only noise to be heard. He breathes in the smoke and burns and waits. He barely notices that someone suddenly grips his arm, that someone pulls at him, pulls him away before a piece of the collapsing ceiling can hit his body. Suddenly, he’s laying on mercifully cool grass, staring up at the sky. _The stars are gone_. That’s the only thought he manages, before he slips into the void. The stars are gone. The smoke has drowned them …

They’re all gone.  
  
They’re all gone. The realization hits Peter so violently, it’s like receiving an electric shock. His flight instinct kicks in and he tries to get out of bed frantically. As soon as his feet touch the cold tiles, his body fails him for the first time in his life. His legs collapse and he falls on the floor face-forward, ripping out some tubes and needles in the process. It hurts briefly but he barely notices it, too shocked about the fact that he just fell - and can't get up again.  
  
Steps approach, fast and light. A woman. A nurse. One of his nurses. He smells her perfume and knows it’s not the redhead with the rough hands and the unkind eyes, not Nathalie, it’s Melissa. He likes her better. She talked to him when she worked, when she washed his hair or applied balm to his burns, telling him about what was happening in the world. Or about her son Scott who wants to become a vet. He’s working part time at Deaton’s clinic. Alan Deaton. The Hales' former emissary. The world is small. 

Melissa’s steps falter at the door. Peter hears her gasp. He guesses she’s not seen many coma patients spontaneously waking up and trying to get up. From where he’s laying on the floor, his face pressed against the tiles, he can only see her shoes. Melissa catches herself after a moment. She hurries into the room, crouching beside him. “Mr. Hale? Can you hear me?”  
  
Peter groans. He tries to talk, but nothing works. Melissa lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Okay. Just breathe. Help is coming.” Of course, Melissa can’t get him up and back into bed alone. She stays at his side, her hand stroking gently, until a doctor and another nurse arrives, fussing over him, their voices dripping with surprise. Peter starts to realize they didn’t expect him to ever wake up. Well, he starts to think that wouldn’t have been so bad. At least, the void and what came after, wasn't so painful and cold. Or so humiliating. He can’t believe he’s being manhandled into the bed by humans, feeling boneless and heavy at the same time.

It’s his first lucid day and God, does Peter hate it. He hates every single second of it.

He is weak. Nothing about his body works like it is supposed to do. He lost so much weight and muscle mass, he can feel the sharpness of his hip bones. But the worst are the scars. They feel tight on his face. When he opens his mouth, they tug at his lips. When he closes his eyes, the skin around them twitches and aches. Everything feels too tender and too numb at the same time.  
  
The doctor tells him he’s a medical miracle. He’s standing in front of Peter’s bed, excitement in his eyes, while he is talking about third- and fourth-degree burns, about multiple complicated surgeries and over a year of coma. While he is talking about physical therapy, diet plans and skin crafts. Peter wants to wipe the smile from the man’s face. That forced cheerful smile. Because, that’s all he gets here. Forced smiles or pitiful glances. He’s the miracle. The survivor. The tragedy they’re eating up greedily and whispering about together, when they think Peter can’t hear them. But thanks to his still perfectly functioning werewolf senses, he hears it all. And he hates it. He hates everything. He’s not a miracle. He lost his family, his pack, and is stuck in this broken body, weak and useless, not able to protect the rest of his pack. He’s always been the protector, what is he supposed to be now?

“Should I call someone? Derek? Or Laura?” Melissa asks him, her voice too gentle. He hates it. But he doesn’t hate her. She’s just doing what she can. He shakes his head. Not yet. Not now. He can’t deal with them right now. Can’t deal with the relieved smiles or the happy tears they’re maybe going to cry. He just wants to close his eyes and sleep. At least whatever they give him is preventing the nightmares he’s sure he would have otherwise. He can sleep in peace while being awake is agony.

When Peter tries to eat solid food for the first time - just tomato soup that smells and looks bland - his hand holding the spoon is trembling and he spills almost everything on the towel over his chest. He grits his teeth and fights actual tears of humiliation down. Melissa doesn’t try to comfort him. He’s grateful for that. He couldn’t stand it.

Noah Stilinski brings Derek and Laura to the hospital the next day, leaving the room after he pushed them in gently, to give them some privacy. The pups stare at him with wide eyes, as if they don’t dare to believe he’s awake. Peter tries a weak smile for them, because it’s not their fault he’s like this. They lost their parents. They are young and scared. Laura makes a noise resembling a sob and grips his hand, her eyes flashing red. She looks almost startled at that, but Peter flashes his eyes blue in return, more to reassure her than to show his loyalty - he wouldn't be of any value to her anyway - and just like that, the pack bond feels a bit stronger. Laura smiles carefully. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she says, squeezing his hand. Derek stands behind her, ducking his head. He glances at Peter and something in his eyes is … strange. Peter frowns and Derek startles, quickly looking away, into a corner of the room, hunching his shoulders. He smells wrong. But Peter can’t figure it out. His nose is practically blind from the smell of disinfection surrounding him all the time.  
  
Laura hesitantly tells him something about her school, her eyes flicking from his eyes to the scars and back. Peter thinks she looks older. She had a year with the Alpha Spark now. It clearly exhausts her, but she is strong. She will manage.  
  
Peter tires quickly and Noah is the first who notices it. He ushers Laura and Derek out of the room gently. “Thank you,” Peter tells him, although he’s so exhausted, even his tongue feels heavy. “For taking them in.”

“Of course,” Noah says. “It was the least I could do.” He studies Peter for a moment, his eyes filling with a certain kind of thoughtfulness, that makes Peter wonder how much the Sheriff _knows_ already, and how long it is going to take him, to find out the rest. After all, he's having two werewolves in his house now. Laura and Derek have learned how to blend in and hide, but there are certain things that are always difficult to hide. Noah leaves after a quiet, “Goodnight.” Peter’s glad, when he’s alone again.  
  
Days pass. The pups come to visit regularly. Laura starts to look better. She talks louder and walks with more confidence. Derek is still withdrawn and never looks at Peter directly. But he thinks, it might be the scars. Chris doesn’t show up. Peter doesn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved.

After some time, Peter can feel his body getting stronger. The wolf is stirring more often, starting to get restless from being in bed all day. Even though he hates every second of it, he grudgingly works with the physical therapist, doing the ridiculous exercises and enduring her too cheerful praises. 

When he’s finally able to walk again - he can only take staggering, slow steps and has to support himself on crutches - he goes to the bathroom alone, intending to wash himself for the first time in ages without any stranger’s hands touching him. By the time he’s standing in front of the sink, he’s breathing heavily and can feel sweat trickling down his back. He looks up, and then he sees his face in the mirror. He sees his face and it’s like his breath is punched out his throat.  
  
He didn’t think it would be _that_ bad. He didn’t think his face would look so ruined. He strokes his fingers over the white stretched skin and shudders at the feeling. He looks like … like an abomination. Hysterical laughter wants to rise up at that thought. He’d always laughed it off, when some hunter called him an abomination for being a werewolf. Because he’d always been proud about being a born werewolf, about being _special_ . But here he is, supporting his useless broken body on crutches meant for weak humans, here he is, his face a destroyed landscape of scars, a lasting reminder of what happened. Peter thinks they won’t vanish, because the fire, the smoke, even the air contained wolfsbane. The scars are imprinted on his body and they will always remember him.  
  
A weak noise escapes his throat, resembling a sob. His legs tremble and can’t keep him up anymore. He slumps and leans his head back against the cool tiles, panting. He stays there for an unknown amount of time, groaning and closing his eyes, when his bladder starts to really burn with the pressure. Peter tries to get up, only to slump back on the floor with a gasp. He can’t get up on his own and fights the feeling of shame and self-hatred for almost half an hour, until he finally presses the call button beside the sink. He hates to be helpless, he hates to be touched and manhandled, but he would hate pissing himself on the floor of the bathroom much more.  
  
After this, everything gets worse. His body seems to stop the process of healing. Maybe, because he just doesn't care enough anymore. He can feel himself slipping into a depression. Questions haunt him whenever he's awake. Why is he even still alive? Why didn’t he just die with his family? Why did this happen? Why …

From now on, Peter avoids the mirror when he dares to make his slow staggering trips to the bathroom.  
  
But even without seeing the scars, he has violent flashbacks and nightmares, especially when they start to reduce the medications he’s on. He screams himself sore in the nights and ends up sweat-bathed and shaky on the days, gasping into the pillows. He’s not talking to anyone about what he sees. Not about the first moments, when he still thought they could escape only to find the tunnels closed with mountain ash. Not about seeing his sister burn. Not about Leah’s little hands reaching for him again and again. He doesn’t talk about it.

His doctors and even Melissa carefully mention talking to a therapist. Peter only scoffs. Someone like him doesn’t see a therapist. A human therapist would never understand … He could never tell them about how it is like, to be utterly trapped, to hear and smell _everything_. No. He can’t see a therapist. He’s alone with the pictures in his head. With the echo of smoke in his nose and screams in his head. No one can understand. He’s alone with this.  
  
Under everyone’s worried and pitiful eyes, Peter stops talking, eating and moving all together. He just lays there and lets time happen, wishing often enough it would just stop. It doesn’t. It passes impassively.

Until a full moon comes up.  
  


* * *

  
A full moon comes up. 

  
Peter feels a bit stronger. But also restless. The wolf whines and scratches at his mental walls. Peter knows what he craves. The long runs through the forest. The joy of freedom. The thrill of a hunt. Oh how he craves that.

And when the moon is finally full and fat on the sky, too bright and too pulling, Peter gets up on legs that for once don’t tremble under him. He gets up and doesn’t even think while climbing out the window, barefooted. He shudders pleasantly when his feet touch soft grass. His legs carry him to the forest slowly. He’s only wearing his hospital gown and the night is cold, but he barely feels it. He’s probably lucky he’s not seen. The streets are empty, since it’s raining cats and dogs. The rain feels heavenly on his skin. As does the breeze that is blowing.

When he reaches a familiar clearing, Peter lifts his face up to the moon and closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of the forest. Pine trees and blackberry bushes. His heart beats faster and his wolf howls in joy. He shifts for the first time in ages. Allows the wolf to come forward. And all of a sudden, the world looks different. _Feels_ different.  
  
He’s on all fours and everything is so intense, he startles and makes a noise. It’s a whine. And when he looks down at his feet, he understands. He’s looking at the powerful paws of an actual wolf. He is a wolf. _The_ wolf.

He doesn’t know why or how this happened. But his confusion quickly makes place to excitement. Like this, he realizes, he doesn’t feel broken. The wolf is strong. The wolf is hyper aware of everything and isn’t feeling depressed. He just wants to run. But the most important thing is: The wolf has no scars. 

Being the wolf is marvelous. It’s what he wants. What he needs. It is a gift. 

And suddenly, he asks himself, why he should even try to change back. So he doesn’t.   
  


The wolf raises his head and howls at the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris was seven when his father showed him how to hold a knife. He still remembers how his fingers curled around the handle, how the blade sparkled in the sun, clean and sharp. He remembers how his father adjusted his grip impatiently, his touch rough and his words crisp. “You will make your first kill with this,” Gerard said, when he was finally satisfied with how Chris was holding the knife. “I don’t care what you kill, but you will do it with this knife. You’re going to spill blood with this blade and then, it will be yours. It could save your life one day.” He roughly ruffled Chris’ hair, and Chris stared at the knife in fascination. 

Weeks later, Chris found a rabbit in the simple trap he had tried to set up. An intense wave of pride, relief and excitement rushed through him at the sight. He did it. For once, his father wouldn’t shake his head and sigh, his eyes spitting disappointment. For once, he would get a pat on the back, a “Well done, boy.” It’s been so long since his father showed anything else than frustration. Chris kneeled beside the rabbit. It was kicking with its hind legs and for a long moment, Chris thought, _I can’t do it. I can’t._ He looked into the almost white eyes of his prey and swallowed. He thought he could hear his father’s voice in his mind. _Are you a weakling? Just do it. Quit being a coward. Be a fucking man._ Chris later didn’t really remembered how he did it. How the blade slid through muscle and flesh. But it did. And it was led by his own hand. He brought the rabbit home, showed it to his father, and Gerard nodded. “well done,” he said and Chris couldn’t help but preene. “That knife is yours now. Don’t lose it.”  
  
Chris loved the knife. He loved to know it was his. He carved his name into the handle carefully. And after so many years, he still has it. Still uses it. He didn’t lose it. 

And it did save his life. When he was twelve, his father sent him outside for three nights, like it was the tradition. Chris already had proved himself in the basement, when he was bound to a chair and gagged, when panic made his heart pound and his ear rush. He freed himself in record time with sheer rage and violence. Gerard looked at him with a rare expression of proudness at that day, while the other hunters nodded and murmured. When they showed him a werewolf for the first time, Chris’ hands were still burning from the rope. There was rope around the werewolf’s wrists too, literally eating away at its flesh, because it was soaked in wolfsbane. Chris stared up at gleaming blue eyes and bared fangs dripping spit. He learned about everything that day. And after, he was sent out into the woods. It was a second test. “Three days,” his father said, his eyes sharp. “Three days and two nights. Only you and your knife. Don’t disappoint me, Chris.”  
  
Chris didn’t. He survived on his own, making a fire and setting up traps, using his knife to skin and carve the animals he caught. The nights were freezing and sometimes he thought he would lose a finger or toe, but he made it through. 

When he came home, Katie stared up at him with open admiration and wonder. It felt good. His father never called him Chris again after this. Only Christopher. It was a sign of approval and it made Chris feel like a man. He did his best to become a good hunter. He drank up every word his father said about werewolves. Monsters, abominations, vermins, mutts … Gerard had many words for them. “They all snap,” he used to tell Chris when they were out, training. “They all snap eventually. You can never trust a wolf. Doesn’t matter how normal or well-behaved they act. They can’t help it. Think of a wolf jumping into a herd of sheep. Their bloodlust will wake up when they smell your fear. If it wasn’t for these weak idiots in the council, I would wipe them out. We would. I would burn every single one of these abominations to the ground. And you would help me, right?” Chris nodded eagerly and Gerard smirked, patting him on the back. “That’s my boy.”  
  
Soon after, Chris killed his first rogue Omega. He got his first scar from a claw, a silver line on his arm. He would collect many of them over the years. 

His life spread out in front of him. He would finish his school, but he won’t go to college. As his father’s son, he was responsible for their family’s stability. He would be a soldier and would train Katie, who, eventually, would be a leader, like all women in the Argent family. He would marry a woman from another hunter family and would gift his father a heir. That would be his life. It was all set and simple. Chris didn’t question it. 

Then he met Peter Hale and everything went to literal hell. 

* * *

The night is calm. It seems like the forest is solidified under the cold. When Chris breathes out, a cloud of fog rises up into the crisp air. He kneels and scrapes at the hard earth, which barely gives in. He frowns. It’s hard to follow a track in the depth of winter. 

Chris sighs and gets up. He tilts his head to listen to the noises around him. An owl calls out. Something small flits through the undergrowth. A few early birds chirp carefully, tiredly. 

Soon, the sun will start to rise. Another night without success. 

It’s been a week. A whole week since Peter has disappeared from the hospital and has been declared missing. A week with freezing nights and icy sleet. One week and Chris can’t help it, he slowly starts to lose hope.  
  
Like everyone else.  
  
Noah notified Chris after they found Peter’s room empty, footsteps fading the closer they came to the edges of the forest. “I know you’re a hunter,” the Sheriff said on the phone. “We could use your help.”  
  
“I’m not hunting anymore,” Chris said, his fingers tightening around the phone. “But I’m going to help. Of course.” 

When he met Noah in the preserve, the Sheriff looked battered and dead exhausted. “We searched the whole night,” he explained, showing Chris a map marked with differently colored pins. “Nothing. I ordered support and we’ll get some search dogs.” He wiped his pale face and shook his head. “This is horrible. He just … disappeared. No one even saw him. I don’t know what to tell the kids.”  
  
Chris put a comforting hand on Noah’s shoulder. “It’s not that long since he has disappeared. We’ll find him.” 

The Sheriff sighed. “I hope so. It’s not like he could run a marathon in the state he is. He barely left the bed for days, damnit.”  
  
Chris nodded. He tapped the map. “You’ll continue your search with your deputies. I’m going to go through that area again. See, if you missed anything.” 

“Okay. Thanks,” Noah murmured. “I need some coffee first. Jesus, Chris. I can’t believe this is all happening. It’s so surreal. I mean, I feel like it was yesterday that we all went to school together.” 

“I know,” Chris said. He remembered too …

* * *

Peter Hale was an asshole. Chris knew that before he realized Hale was a werewolf. Unfortunately, he didn’t know both things when he agreed to sit beside the boy.

“You stink, Argent,” Peter told him when Chris dropped on his chair and wrinkled his nose. "Did you take a wolfsbane bath?"

Chris glared at him. “Well, you can always piss off, if it's too much for you.” 

Peter just chuckled and put his feet on the rest of the chair in front of him. Instead of telling him to remove them, the girl sitting on it looked at him over her shoulder and giggled, flushing slightly. Hale smirked. Chris wanted to puke. 

Peter walked around with his head up high, as if he owned the school, wearing that everlasting arrogant smirk on his face. Unfortunately, he had reasons to be arrogant. He was the leader of the basketball team, winning them cup after cup, he was too damn attractive and his grades were never great, but they were never bad either. Life seemed to be simple and very rewarding for Peter Hale, and Chris hated him. Deep down, he knew he hated the fact, that a werewolf was so damn normal, more than he actually hated Peter. He watched Hale, because he somehow felt like the werewolf was his responsibility. He watched Peter and never saw him losing control. He watched Peter and flinched when the wolf met his eyes and _winked_ , scowling and turning around to walk away, his face burning. 

Chris’ father talked about the Hales like he talked about every werewolf. “And every year,” he rumbled at dinner, “Every year there are more of them, I swear. They’re spreading like mosquitos and they are just as annoying. But the day will come,” he said, raising his hand holding a fork like one of his weapons, “The day will come when one of them slips. When one of them will kill and then I’ll be there to end them.” He sneered. 

Chris was confused. He continued to watch Peter. Once, he watched a basketball game, together with Noah Stilinski. Peter controlled the whole game and Chris somehow felt angry. Hale was a werewolf. Of course he was faster and stronger than the other players. It wasn’t fair. Peter stared at him as if he could read Chris’ thoughts, grinning and making a show of shooting the hoops as casual as possible. Some girls not far away giggled and whispered to each other, throwing heated glances at Peter. But he didn’t spare them a single look. “I really don’t know how he is still single,” Noah said with a slightly sour look on his face. Chris shrugged. He looked at the way Peter’s muscles played under his sweaty skin and suddenly his stomach felt tight.  
  


* * *

  
The search dogs didn't find anything. Chris doesn’t have any success either. Days pass. Days and nights. 

Noah is still throwing everything he has into the search, but he starts to lose hope. It’s palpable. 

“There’s already talking about declaring him dead,” he explains to Chris when they meet at the station to warm up. “They don’t think he could have survived that long out in the cold, not in his state.”  
  
Chris nods. He isn’t surprised. It’s just the logical step. For humans at least. He doesn’t - can’t - believe Peter’s dead. But he can hardly explain to the Sheriff why. 

Noah sighs and rubs his red-rimmed eyes. He looks down at his mud-covered shoes and shakes his head. “Goddammit. We all know he’s not been in a good place after he woke up. I wish he would have talked to someone. Maybe … I don’t know. Maybe he just wanted it to be over. I should start to accept it. But … How am I supposed to tell Laura and Derek? These kids have been through enough already. They lost their entire family in one night. And now their uncle is gone too and there isn’t even a body they can bury.” 

Chris blinks. _A body. There isn’t even a body._ They searched the whole damn forest ... The forest, the rivers, even the hills and mountains behind Beacon Hills. How ... Chris breath falters. He has a sudden thought, an idea. A certain suspicion, that immediately clings to him. And if this suspicion turns out to be right, it’s clear that Peter just doesn’t want to be found.  
  
But first, he has to find prove for the idea suddenly haunting him. 

Chris goes to talk to Derek, because he knows he has the closest relationship to Peter. It was always supposed to be a mentor-student relationship, but Chris knows it was more of a friendship than Peter wanted to admit, with the age gap being not so wide afar as it uses to be with uncle and nephew. 

Derek opens the door reluctantly. He looks way older than he really is, lines of early sorrow building around his eyes. He looks up at Chris and frowns. “How can I help you?” 

Chris clears his throat. “I came to talk about Peter.”  
  
Pain flicks over Derek’s eyes. Pain mingling with a good amount of guilt. He shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “You didn’t find him, did you?” 

Chris shakes his head. Derek nods. “I tried to catch his scent at the hospital. I found and followed it, but I lost it at a stream.” His eyes darken. “Laura thinks he’s dead. Noah does too.”   
  
“What do you think?” Chris asks.  
  
Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. Peter … He was always so strong. How he’s been after the … how he’s been after, it was scary. Laura says it’s been depression. She says sometimes, when their pack is gone and they see no reason to go on, wolves just lay down and die. But … we are still here and we are pack. I … I don’t know.” 

That’s been the longest Chris had Derek ever heard talking. “What if he managed to shift completely? Like your mum? Do you think that’s possible?” He queries. 

Derek’s eyes widen in surprise. “You mean … into an actual wolf? I don’t know. I don’t think he was able to do that, but … my mother said it could be triggered by strong emotions. I … I didn’t even think about this possibility.” His voice starts to sound hopeful.  
  
Chris nods. Derek watches him closely, his nostrils flaring as he takes in Chris’ scent. “You think he’s out there, right?” He asks, almost shyly. 

“Yeah. I’m going to continue searching. And I’m not searching like them. You know that.” 

Derek nods. The careful hope makes his eyes a brighter green. “If anyone can find him, it’s you.” 

Chris blinks in surprise. Derek is already turning around, about to disappear into the house. But then, he hesitates. It seems like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure if he should. Finally, he blurts out, “Peter refused to find a mate, you know. There were several werewolves from different packs over the years, trying to court him. He never reacted to it. Mother told him he’s stupid for waiting. But he did. He was waiting. I think he was waiting for you to come back.”  
  
Before Chris can says something, the door closes gently. Chris stares at the wood, confused and surprised. 

* * *

“There’s a full moon,” Chris said.  
  
“I know. And?” Peter asked indifferently, shoving his sweaty training clothes into his bag. 

Chris frowned. “Shouldn’t you hide somewhere, where you can’t hurt anyone?”  
  
Peter paused in his movements and stared at Chris incredulously for a long moment. Then, he started to laugh. “What? Oh, let me guess, Daddy told you we all turn into bloodthirsty beasts at the full moon, only waiting to dig our fangs into the nearest victim?” He snorted and continued, still chuckling. 

Chris narrowed his eyes and clenched his hands into tight fists. He hated to look like an idiot. Hale made him look like a fool. “I know you wolves,” he gritted out. 

Peter stopped and turned to look at him, suddenly very serious. “You know nothing,” he said. “You only know what your stupid hateful father told you. You don’t know wolves. You don’t know me. Or my family. We never hurt anyone innocent. Just leave us alone.” He slammed his locker shut and threw his bag over his shoulder, pushing past Chris. 

Without really thinking about it, Chris reached out and grabbed Peter’s wrist. Peter looked up at him in surprise. Chris stared back, his stomach dropping when Peter’s eyes flashed golden for a moment. “Let go,” Peter snarled. “Let go, or I’ll show you a wolf.” 

Chris glared back. He couldn’t let go now. It would make him look weak. “You wouldn’t dare. Not here at school,” he challenged, although his heart started to beat faster. 

Peter stared and huffed out a short laugh. “You’re right. I wouldn’t rip you apart here. But … I dare to do this.” And then he closed the gap between them, raised his head and pressed his lips on Chris’. 

Chris gasped and raised his free hand as if to shove Peter away. But … suddenly, he didn’t want to. Peter’s lips on his felt good. Right. It made his chest glow. Too warm. Too bright. He kissed back carefully, tangling his fingers in Peter’s hair. The wolf made an approving noise that went right through Chris.  
  
When they parted, they were slightly breathless. Chris let go and took a step back, running a hand through his hair. Panic overwhelmed him in violent waves. Fuck. Fuck, what was he doing? His father would kill him. His father would be disgusted. Hell. Chris should be disgusted of himself. But when he looked at Peter’s lips, he realized he wanted to feel them again. He swallowed and looked away, his face burning. 

Peter licked his lips and smirked. 

Chris stomach sank.

_Fuck._

* * *

Chris starts his new search at the burned out Hale house. He looks at the charred building, trying to remember how it looked like in the past. He circles it, staring at where the basement was. For a moment, he tries to imagine the terror of being trapped inside, with no chance to escape the flames that grow with every second, choking on smoke, seeing and hearing the others die … He feels sick and walks away from the house quickly.  
  
The pain is still so fresh. The pain of remembering the call in the middle of the night. The words. Fire. Hales. Dead. One survivor. The pain of seeing Peter in the hospital, of hearing the details from Noah, who looked shaken and dead tired as he wrapped Derek and Laura, who weren’t in the house when it happened, in blankets. The pain of trying to find out who did it. The pain of realizing it was his own sister. His Katie. She had help, of course. It took a while to set all the pieces together. But he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate to get his own sister behind bars. Didn’t hesitate to tell the council about every involved hunter. Didn’t hesitate to get a divorce when Victoria admitted she knew but didn’t tell him out of spite, out of jealousy, out of her own hatred towards werewolves. Didn’t hesitate to tell Gerard to piss off and to lay down his weapons, wishing he could lay down the name Argent as well. 

It still hurts so much. It hurts that he has to fight for custody, only seeing Allison on every second weekend now, but he still would do the same damn thing again. Because, the Hales didn’t deserve this. Peter didn’t deserve this. Maybe, if he stayed in Beacon Hills, he could have prevented this from happening. Maybe. He sighs and goes back into the forest, haunted by memories.  
  


* * *

  
Chris’ world changed with a kiss. 

He allowed it to change. He carefully opened his mind and learned so many new things about werewolves, it was overwhelming. He started to understand that the world wasn’t as simple as it seemed to him, when Gerard was explaining it to him. 

Chris’ relationship with Peter was a bit of a clusterfuck. They had to be careful. Chris was aware Gerard would explode if he knew his son was dating a werewolf. Because that was what they were doing, Chris realized with sudden surprise. They were dating. What started with a few more heated, breathless kisses, changed into having a walk through the forest, getting ice cream or carefully holding hands three towns over. It happened fast, and it wasn’t what Chris had thought of, but it made him happy. So he went with it. 

“Why me?” He asked Peter once, when they were laying on a clearing in summer, staring up at the sky. 

Peter shrugged. “It feels right.” That’s the only thing he said. Chris thought it was enough to describe this. 

It felt right.  
  
Of course it had to go to hell eventually.  
  
One night, Gerard took Chris on a hunt. He didn’t tell him what they were hunting. But Chris was used to that. His father liked to surprise him. It was training. Only, when their prey growled, golden eyes gleaming in the night, Chris stopped dead in his steps, fingers freezing on the handle of his knife. “Peter,” he whispered. 

Derek cowered behind Peter, refusing to leave although his eyes were wide and fearful, and Chris stepped in front of Gerard. “They didn’t do anything. You can’t …” 

“So it’s true,” Gerard said, his voice iron and his eyes spitting disgust. “It’s true you fuck this animal. My own son. When Kate told me, I didn’t want to believe it. But it’s alright. You were tricked, manipulated, and I’m going to set you free again. Kill him.” 

“Never,” Chris said, shaking his head. 

Gerard scoffed and raised his gun, pointing it at the wolves. “Do it, or I’ll do it.” 

“You can’t!” Chris called out. “There is a truce. The Hales are a peaceful pack, you …”  
  
Gerard huffed out a hysterical laugh. “There are no peaceful packs! Don’t you forget everything I taught you, you stupid boy, or I’m going to beat it right back into you!” He made a sudden step towards Chris, and Peter roared. He lunged at Gerard, pulling him to the ground and pinning him, his gritted fangs hovering over the man’s throat. The situation froze. Chris stared at the sight in front of him, feeling conflicted, scared and sad. Peter looked up at him and whatever he saw in Chris’ eyes made him look away again, his eyes changing back to normal. He backed away from Gerard who was spitting insults and grabbed Derek’s arm, pulling his nephew into the woods, back into the darkness. Chris stared after him, his heart aching. 

They left Beacon Hills after this. Chris watched the town's silhouette disappearing in the car window while he listened to Gerard’s constant rambling about respect, pride and honor. _It is better this way_ , he thought, although his heart was still aching. With leaving, he would protect Peter and his family from his own. He tried to tell himself it was never meant to be forever, tried to ignore how a part of him already wanted to turn around, to go back. It was better this way. For everyone. 

* * *

  
Chris pauses and listens to the noises of the forest, just like he did a few nights ago. But his search is different now. He is looking for the tracks of wolf paws instead of human footsteps. With every hour that passes, his newfound hope starts to fade more. The earth is hard and the things it tells him are meaningless.  
  
He sighs heavily and looks up at the night sky. The stars are bright today. The moon is a perfect crescent.  
  
A branch cracks behind him. Loudly. Chris startles and has his crossbow ready in a second, turning around and pointing it between the trees. His breath falters when he sees the silhouette of a huge animal, too huge to be a coyote. He blinks and his eyes slowly adjusts to the darkness, his heart beating faster when he realizes a wolf is standing in front of him.  
  
The wolf stares at him, not moving, frozen in place, ears erect. Its thick fur sparkles silvery in the dim light the moon is spreading. 

The wolf stares and Chris stares back. The hope comes back carefully and he guesses it’s worth a try. He slowly lowers the crossbow. “Peter?” He asks. “Is that you?” 

The wolf’s ears twitch. Chris holds his breath and releases it again when the wolf’s eyes gleam in supernatural blue for a second. “It really is you,” he murmurs, overwhelmed by relief. In the end, he didn’t have to find Peter. Peter found him instead. “I was worried about you.”  
  
The wolf tilts his head. He looks at Chris for a moment longer, and then turns around, disappearing back into the woods without making a noise.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been a while since Chris has spent a whole night in the forest.

He sets his camp up on the very same clearing where he often met up with Peter. The night is cold and he has to wrap himself up in several blankets to stop shivering. He spends a few hours outside, sitting on his bedroll, watching the dark forest around him. The sky is clear and starry above him. A few smaller animals sometimes pass the clearing, sending curious glances into his direction. A fox, some rabbits, a lot of mice.   
  
Peter doesn't show up.

Eventually, when he can't keep his eyes open anymore, Chris goes to sleep inside his tent. His sleep is fickle, interrupted by suddenly cracking branches and the calls of an owl. He tosses and turns, finally catching some hours of deeper sleep in the middle of the night. It's dreamless.

In the morning, Chris wakes up with aching limbs. His throat feels dry and his mouth tastes like something died in there. He crawls out of the tent with a groan, stretching for a while, until he can move better again. He goes to the nearby stream. The flowing water is clear. Clean. Chris kneels in the frozen grass and splashes the cold water into his face. After, he scoops some of it into his hands to drink and get rid of the foul taste in his mouth. There's some noise nearby. Leaves rustle and branches crack. Chris knows it's Peter before he even sees him. He just knows. 

When he raises his head, the wolf stands on the other side of the stream, staring at Chris. A blackbird sitting on a nearby branch starts to clamor loudly. 

“Good morning,” Chris says. Peter just huffs and lowers his head to drink from the stream as well, never taking his eyes off Chris. Then the wolf gets some water into his nose and sneezes, the long fur at his neck wiggling. Chris snorts and chuckles. He can’t help himself. The noise and seeing Peter shaking his head to get the water out is just too adorable. Peter raises his head and glares, and God, Chris thinks he would be able to tell the wolf is Peter, even if he didn’t know it already. That is definitely a Peter glare.  
  
"Don't worry," he teases with a grin. "You're still very majestic. A true apex predator."  
  
Peter chuffs. He throws his head up, turns on his heels and disappears again. Chris sighs. That's what he gets for teasing a wolf. He should know better. He shakes his head and gets up on aching legs, going back to his small camp.  
  


When Chris is preparing some sandwiches around noon, Peter returns, standing in the distance and sniffing the air.

  
“You want one?” Chris asks, raising the sandwich in the air. The wolf hesitates, but then he comes closer slowly, his eyes on the sandwich. Chris tries not to laugh again, when Peter stretches his neck long and takes the sandwich between his teeth, carrying it away a few metres and then sinking down into the grass to eat it. He’s basically inhaling it in seconds, licking his muzzle to get rid of the last crumbs. Chris eats his sandwich much slower and then makes some more for them, since Peter stares at him with his ears up, like he's waiting.  
  
A little while later, Chris looks at his phone and sees that Derek wrote him a message.

_Did you find anything?  
  
_

Chris hesitates. He looks over to Peter who has his head on his paws and his eyes closed. He looks peaceful. Serene. Calling a wolf by his full name would change him back to human, Chris knows. But he can’t do it. Not yet. Not when Peter is obviously happy like this. At least the wolf doesn’t seem to be depressed. In the end, he types:  
  


_I found Peter. As a wolf. He’s fine. But I don’t think he’s ready to shift back yet. Don’t tell Noah anything.  
  
_

A long pause. Then:  
  


_Thank you._

  
Nothing more. But Chris can imagine how relieved Derek is now. He puts his phone away and leans back against a tree, watching Peter and getting sleepy himself.  
  


* * *

  
Chris hates that he can’t tell Noah anything. He can’t tell the Sheriff that Peter is still alive. So he has to watch helplessly and silently, when a heartbroken Noah tells Derek and Laura they couldn’t find their uncle, when the two young werewolves have to act like they’re shocked and sad. He has to reassure Noah they will be alright and has to agree to attend a symbolic funeral in the near future. 

When Noah is at the station and Stiles at Melissa’s house to visit Scott, Chris goes to talk to Laura and Derek. 

“He really is a wolf?” Laura asks, surprise and confusion in her eyes. And maybe a bit of jealousy, Chris thinks, but he’s not sure. “An actual wolf? I thought only Alphas manage to do the full shift.” 

“I have never heard about a beta that could do it either,” Chris admits. “But apparently, he was in such an emotional distress, that his wolf took over completely, shielding him from the pain.” 

“We could change him back by saying his name,” Laura says, crossing her arms. “I … I am his Alpha now. I can’t leave him alone, right?”  
  
Derek shakes his head. “Don’t do it, Laura. You know how he’s been the last few weeks before he shifted. He hated the hospital and all these people touching him. I heard Melissa talking to Noah back then. She said she’s afraid he could become suicidal. Maybe being alone and far away from everyone is what he needs now.”

Laura looks doubtful, but Chris nods. “Derek is right. Don’t forget that he suffered a severe trauma. This was his coping mechanism apparently. If you pull him out of it violently, it could be another kind of trauma, only making everything worse. Just wait.”  
  
Laura bites her lip. “How long am I supposed to let him prowl around in the forest, all alone? For years?”

Chris lays a hand on her shoulder. He gets her fear, her worries. “At least he’s alive and close, right? I don’t think he’s going to run away. Peter can look after himself, you know that. And I know it’s hard, you two want your uncle back, but we shouldn’t force him. He’s happy like this. Leave him be, until he returns on his own free will.” 

Laura still doesn’t look convinced. “What if he doesn’t return at all? Or … what if he’s seen by the wrong people and they start to hunt him?”

That’s a thought Chris has had too. A single wolf would certainly cause a lot of fuss in the town, since California has been free of wild wolves for a long time. But he has trust in Peter when it comes to that. “Peter is smart enough not to catch attention,” he assures Laura. “And I will keep an eye on him. It’s going to be fine.”  
  
“Okay,” she says quietly, although she still looks concerned. 

Derek just looks at Chris, like he's considering something. But then, he goes upstairs in silence.

* * *

Chris is sitting on his bedroll, reading a book, when Peter comes to him the next time. He breaks out of the undergrowth, shaking his fur out and glancing over at Chris, his ears twitching. Chris doesn’t react. He just focuses on the page he’s on. 

Peter approaches until he’s closer than ever, so close that Chris can hear him breathing. He looks up and sees the wolf sniffing at his duffel bag for a generous amount of time. Eventually, he lays down beside it and yawns, exposing his impressive set of white sharp teeth. Chris watches as he lays his head on his paws and closes his eyes. From up close, he can see the light brown splotches mixed into the grey and white of the wolf’s fur, as well as the almost black line leading from snout to forehead.

Chris has never seen an actual wolf. Not in real. It is certainly impressive. And a little bit intimidating. He can get why people would be scared by a wolf, by the large paws, the strong jaw and the teeth that can crack bones in seconds. He watches as Peter lazily flaps his tail to chase away a buzzing insect and smiles. “This is not so bad, you know. At least I don’t have to listen to your snarky comments all the time,” he jokes. 

Peter opens one yellow eye and makes a rumbling noise. 

Chris chuckles. He leans back against the tree behind him and continues reading. A few hours pass in comfortable silence. When the sun starts to sink slowly, Chris packs his book away. Peter opens his eyes and watches him attentively.

“Laura and Derek worry about you, you know,” Chris says carefully. Maybe, reminding him of his remaining family will prompt Peter to come back. Maybe.

The wolf's ear twitches. He sighs and starts to lick one of his paws.

“I just want you to know, that you’re missed. There’s someone waiting for you to come back," Chris continues.  
  
Peter gets up and snaps at a fly, turning around and trotting away.

Chris tries not to feel disappointed. Because, he gets it. He gets that Peter keeps his distance. His whole life went up in flames and he isn't the same anymore. He surely worries his remaining family will see him differently now. Chris looks after Peter until the wolf disappears behind the trees and decides not to try that again too soon.  
  


* * *

The evening is cold. Colder than the ones before. Chris shivers even in his many layers of clothes. His stomach rumbles and he considers setting up a trap, but before he can decide if it's worth the effort, he hears fast approaching footsteps.

Peter drops a dead rabbit in front of him. He looks up at Chris and pants, the fur around his muzzle sticky with dried blood. Chris looks down at the mangled animal and clears his throat. “Is that for me? Thanks.”  
  
He takes his knife out to skin the animal and severs one of the upper legs. He offers Peter the rest and the wolf sinks into the grass, happily tearing away at flesh and effortlessly cracking bones.  
  
Chris definitely won’t eat raw flesh, so he automatically prepares a fire. He collects the right kind of wood and leaves like he has learned so long ago, piling them up and pulling out a match. When he’s about to light it, there’s a quiet growl. He looks up and sees Peter standing there and watching him wide-eyed, the fur at his neck bristled and his flews pulled back slightly. Chris’ stomach sinks. Fuck. He didn’t even think about it. For a moment, he considers just taking the rabbit leg home and cooking it there. But a part of him thinks that maybe, he can prompt Peter to start to deal with his trauma instead of running away from it. Not all fire is bad, after all. He clears his throat. “Sorry, but I need the fire. I can’t eat the rabbit raw like you, you know that. And it’s getting colder with every night too. I have no fur to stay warm. It’s not dangerous, okay? I’ll have it under control the whole time. It’s safe. It won’t hurt you.”

Peter growls again and takes two steps back. Chris still lights the match and throws it on the heap, blowing gently to encourage the flames to grow. Smoke floats up and wood crackles. Peter whines and retreats further, his ears setting back. He stares at the fire, his eyes reflecting the flames.

Chris sharpens a tree branch and sticks the meat on it, holding it over the fire. It’s getting darker while the rabbit leg roasts and drips grease. Peter starts to pace restlessly, always staying behind the circle of light the fire is throwing. He makes unhappy growling noises. Chris tries not to feel bad. The fire is giving him the warmth he desperately needed today. The roasting meat starts to smell good, making his mouth water. When he deems his dinner ready, he pulls the stick away from the fire and arches his brow at Peter. “Want some?”

The wolf stops in his pacing, one paw in the air and body tense. He looks from the fire to Chris back to the fire, and makes a pitiful noise, that actually causes Chris’ stomach to clench. Before he can say so much as Peter’s name, the wolf turns and runs away, disappearing in the woods.  
  
Chris doesn’t see him for a whole week. 

* * *

  
But Peter comes back and when Chris makes another fire, he stays. He’s still pacing and growling constantly, but he stays. It’s progress.

On a snowy Sunday, when Chris’ fingers feel numb even though the flames are close and tall, Peter appears with prey again. This time though, it’s not a rabbit. Chris is quite sure his jaw drops when he sees what Peter is dragging through the snow. It’s a whole female mule deer. And it’s heavy, judging by the way the wolf’s muscles strain while pulling at it. “Dear God,” Chris murmurs. Peter drops the deer quite close to the fire, looking up and panting, his open mouth exposing bloodied teeth. He looks over to Chris and tilts his head. Chris immediately gets the request directed at him. He gets up and drags the deer the last few metres towards his camp. The animal is heavy and even though the distance is short, Chris feels breathless when he’s done. Peter circles the fire and, to Chris’ surprise, approaches the camp, sitting beside the deer and looking up at Chris, his tail wagging a few times. Chris chuckles. He kind of has the feeling the wolf wants to brag. “Well done,” he says, and Peter’s tail wags faster. “That’s going to feed me for days.”

He pulls out his knife to get to work, while Peter lays down and observes him, throwing glances at the fire from time to time, his ears twitching at each crack of a branch. But he’s staying. And he’s close. Chris is glad. He starts to skin the deer and discovers the wounds at the neck, where Peter must have killed it. The teeth marks are deep, almost going to the bone. He shortly imagines how fast a human neck would give way under these teeth.  
  
It takes a long while until he can roast some meat over the fire. Peter gnaws at one of the deer’s leg lazily, obviously not that hungry, which means, he mainly thought of Chris when he hunted. Working on the animal warmed Chris up. Still, when it starts to snow again, he groans and pulls his jacket around his body tighter. “You know, I kind of wish, you could have shifted in summer,” he murmurs. Peter just rumbles.  
  
A few cold moments pass, while the fire crackles and an owl calls out in the distance. Eventually, Peter moves and gets up, slowly walking over to Chris. Chris is surprised when the wolf sniffs at his shoes, but he doesn’t move, just waiting what will happen. After a moment, Peter huffs and lays down again, putting his massive head on Chris’ thigh and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. Chris tries to resist the urge, but he can’t help himself. He puts a hand on Peter’s head and rubs between his ears carefully. The wolf barely even flinches. Feeling encouraged, Chris continues, stroking through the thick fur, freeing it from burs. He could get used to this, he thinks. But at the same time, he still wonders if Peter will ever change back to human again.  
  


* * *

  
Time passes like it always does and they fall into a rhythm.

Chris spends most of the days and some nights in the forest with Peter. He reports back to Laura and Derek, reassuring them that their uncle is fine. Almost too fine sometimes, he thinks amused, when he watches Peter rolling around in snow and dirt or sneaking up on a poor mouse and chasing it, his tail wagging wildly.

On every second weekend, Chris spends all his time with Allison. His little girl … She makes his world warmer and brighter. She asks him if he will come home, and his heart clenches. It clenches when he remembers her age and that his family won’t hesitate to make a hunter out of her, just like they did with Chris. He can’t let that happen. He tries to push the worries aside when he’s with her. He wants to enjoy it.  
  
When he returns to the forest after these weekends, it takes him ages to find Peter. The wolf doesn’t spare him a second glance and Chris rolls his eyes, telling him to stop being jealous.

Sometimes, Chris meets with Noah for a cup of coffee, always feeling bad about not being able to tell the Sheriff, that the man they buried not that long ago, is in fact alive. He wonders what they are going to do if Peter decides to shift back, now that there’s a gravestone with his name. He probably will need a new identity. But right now, it doesn’t seem like Peter has any intentions to change anything, even though Chris sometimes talks to him about his niece and nephew. Sometimes, Chris asks himself if Peter would even be able to shift back by himself.  
  
Time passes and the days get warmer, to Chris’ great relief.  
  
Spring makes the snow melt and life reawakens in the forest. Peter starts to behave a bit strange. He paces restlessly, growling and snapping at everything that moves, and Chris wonders about it for quite a while, until he realizes with a shock that it’s probably because of the rut. Then he panicks briefly, wondering if Peter will run off, trying to find a mate somewhere. He doesn’t, thankfully. Instead, he brings Chris dead rabbits, wolf-grinning at Chris' praises.   
  


In summer, something remarkable happens.  
  


On a Sunday, Vic stands in front of Chris’ house, Allison in her arms. “Take her,” she says when they’re inside, something in her voice breaking like he has never experienced it before. “Why now?” He asks, his heart pounding.

Vic looks over at Ally, who is sitting at the kitchen table, completely focused on the image she’s painting, and sighs, running a hand through her short hair. “Gerard called. He’s eager to start her … her training. She's still so young. Chris, after everything you told me, after everything I saw and heard, I can’t stand the thought of him getting his hands on her. I cut him off and I bet he's going to try to find us. She’s safer with you. I’m going back to France. To my own family.”  
  
Chris frowns. “You’re sure?”  
  
She nods curtly. A hint of pain appears in her eyes. “Yes. You’re better with her than I could ever be, anyway. You know me, Chris.”

Chris shakes his head and lays a hand on her shoulder, feeling the need to comfort her. Even after everything that happened, he wouldn't ever be able to hate Victoria. “She loves you too, Vic.”  
  
She nods curtly and sighs. “I’m not going to be gone completely. I’m still going to call and visit, if you allow it.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Vic looks at him calmly, her eyes searching his face. “Thank you, Chris. I’m aware you were never really happy with what we had. I wasn’t happy too. But I could always count on you. I hope it was the same for you. Apart from what happened with the Hales. I sometimes wish I could have gotten over my feelings and told you. It would have been the right thing to do. I'm sorry.”

She doesn’t say much more. She says goodbye to her daughter and leaves fast, probably before she can change her mind. Chris looks at Allison and feels only joy, but also a bit wistfulness. Oh, how fast things can change. 

* * *

  
“I can no longer be here all the time,” Chris tells Peter a little while later. “I have my daughter now. I have to take care of her. And I can’t bring her here, to you.”  
  
Peter glances up at him from where he’s laying over Chris’ feet, like he wants to say, “Why not?”

Chris sighs and strokes through the wolf’s fur. “Don’t you think you could change back to human? Things would be so much easier, you know? We could talk. I miss your voice.”  
  
Peter huffs and gets up, shaking his fur. He walks away without a glance back, drinking at the nearby stream and then walking through it, disappearing in the woods again. Chris looks after him, chewing on his lower lip. He runs his hand through the grass and frowns at how dry it is.

Everything is dry only a little while later, when the sun burns from the sky mercilessly. Chris walks through the forest barefooted and without a shirt. Peter’s fur gets shorter. He’s still panting all the time, lapping at the little rest of liquid in the stream. Chris knows he has to walk greater distances now to find proper water, so he always brings a few bottles with him, letting Peter drink out of them.

Everything is dry and brittle, and then, it’s wildfire season.

To Chris’ immense relief, they are spared from a fire for a long time. He almost thinks they are going to pass the summer without one, but then, on a weekend, the reports about an approaching fire come in. It’s huge. Chris watches the news and his throat feels tight, when he sees the orange flames licking up the dry fir trees. _Fuck_.  
  
The same day, he searches for Peter futilely.

The wind doesn’t change direction and they start to be able to sense the fires as they come closer. The sky is milky. The air feels rough in Chris’ lungs. His heart sinks. He hurries through the forest, calling Peter’s name a few times, without a result. He even howls a few times, hoping his voice carries wide.  
  
He almost loses hope, when, finally, Peter breaks out between the trees, approaching him fast, his ears erect and his tail between his legs. He whines and when he comes closer, Chris can see the white of his eyes. Chris crouches down and opens his arms, almost falling backwards when the wolf presses against him, nuzzling his neck. Chris hugs him. “Hey, you’re alright. It’s alright. That fire won’t hurt you.” _I won’t let it._  
  
Chris can feel Peter trembling. He breathes in deeply and frowns at the ashen taste in his mouth. The fires are still coming closer … He makes a fast decision. “Come on,” he tells Peter. “Come home with me.”

Peter looks at him and nervously licks his nose, but when Chris goes back to his car, the wolf follows. He opens the backdoor for Peter and he jumps in without hesitation, curling up on the leather seats. Chris starts the car. If he has to, he’s going to take Allison and Peter to the coast, far away from the fire. This is different from his little campfires Peter got used to. This he can’t control.  
  
He takes Peter home, and when the wolf follows him into the house, his body tense and head lowered, Allison gasps and stares. “Dad, where did you find that dog? He looks like a wolf,” she says in awe. Her babysitter frowns at Peter, especially when the wolf puts his paws on a chair and jumps on it, sitting there like a human. Allison laughs. “Uh,” Chris scratches his neck. “I found him in the forest. Guess he ran from the fires. He was quite scared.” Peter shoots him an offended look. Allison hums. “I can get being scared of the fire. It's scary,” she says and carefully reaches out. Chris involuntarily tenses when her little hand gets so close to Peter’s strong jaw, but the wolf only rubs his cheek against it, making a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. Allison laughs again and Chris feels a bit guilty for being so concerned. But well. It's his daughter. It isn't easy to forget what a wolf's teeth can do.  
  
The babysitter, an elderly woman, shakes her head. “You shouldn't touch him, Allison. Maybe he’s got rabies. He looks feral.”  
  
Peter growls at her and Chris tenses again, but then Allison says to the babysitter, “Don’t insult him. He just needs a bath.”  
  
Peter doesn’t growl at Allison. Instead, he gives her a toothy wolf grin and bumps his head against her hand again, like an oversized cat. Chris arches his brows. The babysitter purses her lips, but shrugs, preparing to leave. She makes a big circle around Peter, who gives her a last growl and Chris shakes his head. Allison however, seems to be absolutely in love with the wolf. “What’s your name?” She asks him, leaning over the table and holding his huge head in both her small hands. He lets her. “Peter,” Chris says from where he’s standing in the kitchen, making some sandwiches. “Peter. Like in Peter And The Wolf,” she says and squeals when she gets a wet wolf kiss. “Ew. You stink, Peter.” The wolf huffs.

When it gets dark outside, Chris can see the flicker of flames in the distance. He closes the curtains and hopes the wind will change direction this night. Or that they get one of the carefully announced rain storms.

Peter follows Allison everywhere. He sits in the bathroom while she is brushing her teeth, looking up at her attentively. “Are we going to keep him?” Allison asks when Chris puts her into bed, her eyes pleading. Chris bites back a laugh when Peter pushes the door open with his head and his claws click on the wooden floor. He nuzzles and licks Allison’s hand. She giggles. “Maybe,” Chris says and Allison beams. “But he’s going to need a collar,” she says sternly and Chris thinks he can see a hint of alarm and horror in Peter’s softened eyes.

“Goodnight, little monkey,” Chris says and gives Allison a kiss on her forehead. “Come on,” he tells Peter and leaves the bedroom, followed by the wolf. He leads him into his own bedroom, shaking his head and sighing. “What am I going to do with you? I can hardly put you on a leash, right?” Peter huffs and glares, baring his teeth a little. Chris smiles weakly. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find a solution, until these fires stop. I’m going to keep you safe.” He starts to strip and puts on a shirt and sweatpants for the night.

Meanwhile, Peter walks to the bed, eyeing it for a moment. He jumps on it and turns on the spot a few times, before curling up in the middle and laying his head on his paws. Chris’ looks at him and arches his eyebrows. “Where am I supposed to sleep now?” He asks. Peter glances at him and his shoulders pull up in the version of a wolf shrug. Chris snorts. He sits on the bed, pushing at Peter. “Come on. Give me some space.” The wolf reluctantly shifts. Chris lays down and ends up with his head close to Peter’s. He grimaces. “I should brush your teeth. Smells like something died in your mouth. And Allison is right. You totally need that bath.”

Peter grumbles. Chris sighs and looks up at the ceiling for a moment, wondering how he ended up in this situation. Eventually, he falls asleep, thinking he senses a cold snout on his skin for a moment, giving him the imitation of a goodnight kiss.  
  


* * *

Everyone loves Chris’ “dog”.  
  
Thankfully, Peter plays along most of the time, obviously not too keen on returning to the forest as long as wildfire season is going on.

But while Peter lets Allison and her friends pet him, even allows them to fed him treats, Chris doesn’t dare to put a collar on him, so he tells Peter to stay in the house and the garden, hoping the wolf won’t start running around in the neighbourhood. He doesn’t, thankfully. Peter is too smart to catch attention and let someone put him into some animal shelter.

Chris is surprised about how close Peter stays to Allison, looking at her like she is the moon. But then, he thinks maybe she reminds him of the kids he was looking after before the fire. When he allows Allison to sleep with her head on his back, Chris cocks an eyebrow and says, "You act all dangerous, but basically you're just a big softie with sharp teeth, aren't you." Peter only chuffs and closes his eyes. 

On a weekend, when the news tell them that the fires won’t be any danger anymore, Chris does something he has been avoiding because he isn’t sure how Peter would react. He invites Derek and Laura over.  
  
Peter is laying in the garden when they arrive, holding his face up into the sun. His ears twitch and he sniffs the air when they approach, turning his head, but not standing up.  
  
Derek and Laura stare, their stance unsure. “That’s really him?” Derek asks, his eyes wide.  
  
Chris nods. “Call him,” he suggests, eager to see the wolf’s reaction. “But not by his full name.”  
  
Derek takes a deep breath. “Hello Uncle Peter,” he says, quietly but of course still perfectly audible for a wolf. Peter’s ear turns into Derek’s direction. He stares, but still doesn’t move. “It’s good to see you, Uncle Peter,” Laura says, a bit louder than her brother. She gets the same reaction. The twitch of an ear and a firm look.  
  
“Flash your eyes at him,” Chris says.  
  
Laura complies. Her eyes turn crimson. Peter looks at her and then, for a volatile moment, his eyes flash bright blue. Laura exhales shakily. She still hesitates, but when she takes a step towards Peter, he finally gets up, shaking his fur and slowly walking over to her, licking her jaw when she crouches down and rubbing against her, scent-marking her. Laura buries her face into his fur for a moment, closing her eyes.

Chris and Derek watch the scene silently.

“He’s staying here?” Derek eventually asks, his eyes glued to the wolf.

“Yeah. I thought he would return to the forest when the fires are gone, but so far, he doesn’t seem too eager to leave,” Chris says, grinning weakly. “If he shifts back, I’m going to have a horrible lot of explaining to do. My daughter adores her, uh, wolfy dog.”  
  
Derek laughs. It's such a sudden and unfamiliar noise, it makes Chris smile and Laura looking back over her shoulder. Peter nudges her cheek.  
  


* * *

A few more weeks pass.  
  
By now, Peter’s presence in the house and garden is normal. Familiar. One evening, when Chris is reading in bed, Peter joins him. He curls up and puts his head on Chris’ stomach with a sigh.

Chris smiles and scratches between Peter’s ears. “You know, it’s alright if you stay like this. No one is going to be angry. I mean … I miss talking to you. There’s a lot I would tell you. I sometimes remember the good times. When we were young and still thought we could take on the world. The world and our families. Maybe we should have. I know Talia never really liked what you had with me, but she would have accepted it. Not like Gerard.” He sighs heavily. “So many mistakes. So many things I did just because I was afraid. I never wanted to hurt you. But I did. And I’m sorry. I don’t dare to ask for another chance. I don’t deserve it. I know that.” That’s true. He knows. That doesn’t keep it from hurting. Peter looks up at him with attentive eyes. Chris hesitates, then he says softly, “When I went to talk to Derek, he said you were waiting for me. That you refused to find a mate. See, I wish I could talk to you about that. Because, if you were really waiting, I think I did the same damn thing. I was waiting too. Only, different.” He sighs. “Oh I don’t know. I’m dead tired …” He closes his eyes and feels the exhaustion reaching for him. “Goodnight, Peter,” he whispers. Sleep comes quick. It’s dreamless.  
  


In the morning, something feels different.  
  
  
Chris doesn’t really comprehend the feeling first. He rises up from sleep slowly, and his hand reaches for Peter, reaches for the wolf usually sleeping curled up beside him, only, he doesn’t find fur, he finds skin. He frowns and opens his eyes, blinking into the early sunlight. When they finally focus, his eyes widen in surprise.  
  
Peter is still curled up beside him, only, he’s not a wolf anymore. He’s very human and naked, his hair ruffled and his eyes still closed in sleep. Chris stares, not really sure if he’s dreaming or not. After a while of wondering, he slowly reaches out to run his hand through Peter’s soft hair. Peter stirs and opens his eyes. He makes a confused noise and blinks. “Hey,” Chris says softly.  
  
Peter looks up at him and frowns. He raises a hand to touch his own face and grimaces slightly, when he strokes over skin, stubble and scars. “Chris,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse.

They stare at each other and time seems to stand still. Chris got so used to seeing Peter as a wolf, it feels surreal to see him like this, to see the man he knows and yet is so different from the boy he once aggressively kissed in a locker room. Peter eventually sighs heavily and closes his eyes again. Chris clears his throat. “Did you want to shift back?”

Peter hesitates. “Not all of me,” he finally admits, opening his eyes again. “A part of me wanted to stay the wolf forever. I don’t know if I would be able to do the full shift again. It was good. It was good to be the wolf, to not be ... like this. I’m damaged, Chris. I’m damaged and I don’t know if I can put myself together again.” His voice sounds choked now. He looks like he wants to say more, but can't.  
  
Chris reaches out again to touch Peter’s cheek. The scarred one. Peter flinches, but he allows the touch, even carefully leaning into it. Chris looks into blue eyes and they are filled with so much pain, he can feel it as an echo inside himself. “You don’t have to set yourself together alone,” he says. “I’m with you. Like I was for the last months. And Laura. Derek. Noah. My daughter who learned to love your wolf form and now has to learn about your human form. You’re here and I know it’s going to be tough, there is going to be pain and setbacks and sometimes it's going to feel like you can't do it, but you have already gone such a long way, and now you decided to go it further. It’s going to be alright.”  
  
Peter looks at him and nods slowly. “Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice still hoarse and Chris decides to get some water. But when he sits up, Peter’s voice holds him back before he can get up. “I was. I was waiting for you,” he says barely audible. Chris’ breath falters. He looks back at Peter, who stares at him, his eyes filling with careful hope. Chris nods and reaches out to cup Peter’s cheek. “Me too. I was waiting too,” he says and closes the gap between them to kiss Peter gently.

“Mate,” Peter whispers when they part, pressing his face into the crook of Chris' neck. It’s only one word, but it seems to comprise a world. A very new world. Chris nods. “Your mate," he agrees.   
  
Their world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This somehow screams for a sequel. Let's see if I can fill another bingo quare with it, hm.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Bingo 2020. Square: Full Shift Werewolves.
> 
> I always love to hear what you are thinking about the story! ❤
> 
> Say hi on [Tumblr](https://for-the-love-of-wolves.tumblr.com/)  
> :)


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